A Day in the Life of a Zombie
by Curses
Summary: How exactly does a zombie carry out a normal day in Racoon City, with this first person 'fly on the wall' documentary about a zombie who just has to find some nice, juicy flesh, also a slight answer to 'why cant zombies pick up chicks'


**A/N: **Sorry again for my PC crashing, being wiped and then my stories being deleted on I found out what happened, yesterday I was wondered downstairs, my 12 year old bro decided to enter my room, after reading my msn convo's he bought the net up, seeing as I was about to post a new chapter for RE: No Remorse; he thought it'd be funny to… How can I put it, 'delete everything'. Looks like I start again… Unless I can find my old stories somewhere on a disc or something, my old projects are being suspended if not ended.

Anyway, maybe a zombie thinks, perhaps it doesn't. To be honest, I don't care. I write this after watching Shaun of the Dead for the… 100th time perhaps… puts disc into the Xbox 360 again Aaanyway, enjoy this one-shot about life, as a zombie.

* * *

As a low-pitched groan erupted forth from my lips, a number of thoughts decided to swim through my mind. For instance, ever since I was bitten by my 90 year old grandmother and turned into a flesh eating monster spawned from the laboratories of the Umbrella Corporation I just hadn't been able to pick up chicks. Yesterday for example, I was shambling along when a living young blonde girl stumbled and fell over in front of me. Feeling kinda lucky and oh so desperate for some female attention I took a few steps forward. My right arm rose and as I attempted to place my hand on her shoulder, before long she screamed. Personally, I think I'm damn good looking for an undead guy, short brown hair sat on top of a rather tanned face, two big saucer like eyes had managed to make any girl fall for me, so, I was clueless as what made me so repulsive. Then again, the fact half of my face had been blown off in a rather ugly encounter with a police officer the day before might have had something to do with it.  
I took a step forward and my zombie-sense tingled, my nose twitched as a familiar scent of living flesh swam up my nose, reacted with my rather empty brain and before long my feet had a mind of their own. Swinging around on the rotting balls of my feet I began to shamble along once more, before long a dark brown, oak door decided to get in my way. Another long, low-pitched groan erupted forth; before long a few familiar faces stumbled into view; together, as one unified horde we smashed our fists against the door. Loud bangs echoed out into the night sky, miles above my head stars flashed brightly against the pale black curtain which once again befell the heavens above Earth. 

As my fists hammered against the wood for a second time, another thought sprang into my mind. Why is it whenever I try and say something poetic or romantic, my lips just seem to groan, moan or make other unheard sounds that people cannot understand. That may be another reason why I hadn't been able to pick up chicks, even my cheesiest of chat-up lines (_Hey honey, I bit my tongue, think you could kiss it better for me?_) came out as a single long groan. Quickly as the thought had come, the incredible stomach pain which signalled it was time to eat once again overwhelmed my senses to the point I could cry. I would cry, if my eyes contained that much fluid.

The oak door in front of me buckled, and we poured into a large room, furniture had been moved to try and block the windows. A table had been turned onto its side, probably acting as a barrier in which people could shoot at us from behind. Several gunshots rang out into the area as my theory was proven correct. A rather chubby man showed his head once again, aiming a small pistol at my good buddy Peter the Undead Butcher Who Once Again Failed to Make Something of Himself as I began to call him; a few shots sounded and Peter the UBWOAFMSH (for shortening purposes obviously) hit the cold ground below our feet, his head splintering into a thousand pieces covering my brand new Denham jacket with coagulated blood. Anger swelled up inside of me as I felt the pain of having my rather fashionable jacket ruined I charged forward.

Of course, my feet couldn't keep up.

My pace accelerated to a shocking three mph as my left foot snapped. The rather weak ankle collapsed under the weight of my body, falling forwards I lashed out with my hands, managing to fall over the table edge. Landing amongst the rather small group of humans I clawed at their faces like I remembered seeing on other zombie movies. My dirty fingernails cut into the chubby mans eyes like a hawks talons would cut into a voles back. He screamed in pain, the other man who was with him wrapped his rather toned arms around my neck, of course oxygen wasn't a problem when you're a member of hell's satanic horde; only problem I feared from this man was if he twisted my neck hard enough my spine would rotate to an angle not even my body could handle. Suddenly the arms released me, this meant that my comrades had managed to catch up to me, allowing me to focus on my chubby new friend. Removing my fingers from his eyes I grabbed his neck, the folds of flab nearly escaping my grasp as I swooped my jaw in for the kill. Stained teeth bit into his flesh, the rewarding taste of fresh blood revitalised my bodily functions; allowing my new found strength to wrestle the still fighting person to the ground. A soft sense of fulfilment burned its way through my body as I managed to eat my fair share of the chubby man before countless of my undead buddies swarmed over the kill.

* * *

The early morning sunshine swept down onto the back of my neck. I felt truly refreshed, so refreshed I could jump up into the crisp morning air and click my heels together – well, I would if my ankle hadn't of broken the night before. Half-a-smile crept onto my face (the other part of my lips having been blown off a few days earlier); feeling this new sense of warmth I stumbled forwards, shuffling along the concrete towards a large firefight. 

The building my feet led me towards reached up into the heavens; elegant glass windows lined the walls as my brothers in arms (well, some of them brothers in armless) bashed at the entrance gates. As I neared the gates the horde managed to break through, hundreds of my fellow undead charged up the ramp towards a Black Hawk helicopter. My stomach began to ache once again as the pains from not eating living flesh began to slow my movements. Dragging my dead weight with a broken ankle slowed me down slightly, smelling fresh blood I tried to assure myself that I would get there before the living had been stripped down to the bare bones.

That's when I heard a sonic boom from nearby.

Tilting my head upwards I saw one of the most attracting things I had ever seen. A trail of light whistled overhead, I was following the object so intently I failed to notice the dead corpse that lay in front of me. Falling to the floor once again I lay on my back, looking up at the streak of light that scorched the sky, soon enough the missile smacked into the building that stood a few paces away from me.

My last thought was of the chubby man I devoured the night before as a blinding white light cut through my vision and began to burn what I had left of my brain I wondered. I wondered what would of happened if I could still pick up chicks, could still feel the tender touch of a rose…

Oh well, that's life. Or in this case, that's the afterlife.


End file.
